I noted this was a thread idea of mine in the “Aborted Threads” thread, an’ another poster thought it actually had promise. So, what the hell.
So, here’s the setup…you’re a Superhero (or a supervillain). What’s the worst way to have your secret identity exposed? (For the purposes of this thread, “worst” is mainly in the “humorous” sense.)
Note…it doesn’t have to be exposed to the entire world (though it helps.) It can be just one person.
Anyway, so far, I thought of…
•On the toilet, with your costume around your knees, suffering from a mean bout of Aztek’s Revenge.
Alternately, in the bathroom, your cowel pulled off, and dead or passed out face down in an unflushed toilet.
•At a party or social event that both your identities were trying to attend.
The old standby. This sort of situation is often played up for laughs, but the slightest slipup might blow your cover sky-high (See Mrs. Doubtfire for examples.). Which would still be funny as hell, just not for you.
•Just being found dead, somewhere.
I’m thinking “found shot full of holes in a bordello” would be pretty bad.
You design a costume, forgetting that you wore something very similar when you posed for that particularly nasty fetish website back when you were a starving college student.
I always thought it would kinda suck if my glasses fell off at a bad time. Y’know, like at the office Christmas party, and that hot cub reporter meets me on the way to the bathroom, and nobody else is around, so he’s all, “You’re cute when I’m drunk,” and I’m thinking, You’re cute when I’m sober, and then he gets all smoooooooove and slips my glasses off. He leans in for smooch and I’m all, Heck yes! Mama’s havin’ a good night! but then Smoovy McSmooverton succumbs to the demon alcohol and vomits on my shoes and then passes out on me–literally on me!–and gets his fingers tangled in my blouse. Then he does that stupid drunk-man-falling-thing where he’s just suddenly on the ground, and all the buttons to my blouse with him. Of course, this means that my Lycra suit is on full display, chest emblem and all. Then the gossipiest gossip in the entire office shows up and she just happens to have assigned herself as the official chronicler of the Christmas party, so she has a digital camera with the biggest memory card the world has ever seen. And so, ladies and gentlemen, the jig goes up, with vomit and a cub reporter.
Nope. That was off the top of my head. Or from the inside of it or whatever. So I guess I’ve “always thought” for the past twenty minutes or so. But thanks for the compliment!
Showing your loved one that you’re a superhero because you’ve proposed to her, and you can’t let her say “Yes” without letting her know the truth about you…
…And she FREAKS, gets totally hysterical, tells you what an inhuman monster you are, and calls the FBI on you.
“No, uh, I’m Clark Kent.”
“Dude, you’re just wearing glasses, and a business suit instead of the tights and cape. How stupid do you think we are, anyway?”
(DP) This is the most difficult article I’ve ever had to write. As of four PM yesterday evening the world knows that Clark Kent is Superman. And it’s all my fault. While reporting on the unsanitary conditions at the Metropolis Orphanage I failed to wash my hands. I caught a cold.
I came home to my husband Clark, who you all now know as Superman. I sneezed with reckless abandon, never covering my mouth. I believed, wrongly as it turned out, that the Last Son of Krypton was immune to all disease. Clark inhaled the virus. The virus that I brought into our home. Should I ever see him again I don’t know how I will make it up to him. But maybe it is too much to hope that I’d see him again.
I’m rambling. I’m sorry. He was the finest man I ever knew, finer than any from this earth. He went to the office the next day, with the silent killer in his system. He went about his day normally. I remember his last words to me after lunch, before this terrible tragedy. “Wear the Supergirl outfit tonight.” I’ll treasure them always. He mentioned his nose was itching. I thought nothing of it. What could irritate the Man of Steel’s nose?
At four PM, on his way out the door, Clark met Jimmy Olsen, Superman’s Greatest Pal. Jimmy never knew Clark was Superman. Not until it was too late. Clark’s nose itched and he tried to get away. Maybe he thought it was red Kryptonite or something. I don’t know.
But Jimmy just wanted to talk about Superman. Finally, it happened. Clark sneezed. And blew Jimmy’s fucking head right off, like a shotgun at close range. His glasses shattered from the force. Those who saw Clark cuddle Jimmy’s headless corpse immediately knew the truth. We all heard his cry of sorrow. It shattered every window in Metropolis. The streets glitter with a crystal memorial to Jimmy Olsen and the greatest hero who ever was.
He left Earth after that. His sacred vow broken, he could no longer stay among us.
I love you Clark. I’m sorry I never told you to cover your mouth when you sneeze.
